A meeting, a fate, you finally become a picture; an old man, a word, I will be your long hair and waist fleeting time.
The affectionate breeze thinned the flowers of March and fattened the branches and leaves of April, but in this land of Sahe, in this green season, I still feel that this refreshing April seems to be missing something-a piece of green bamboo leaves.
Miss that piece of bamboo leaf green in my hometown, because in the screen wall of my heart, there is always a picture-a touch of warm sunshine, a piece of green bamboo forest, a few cheerful birds, a piece of green grass, a thin and sick old man.
In my memory, the brilliant sun shines on the small village inhabited by the Jingpo nationality. Mixed trees into a forest, closely surrounded by a chic cottage. Along the road, clumps of thick and tall dragon bamboos hugged each other for the nutrition of this fertile land, and the new bamboos shook back and forth in a strong posture in the wind; the green bamboo leaves rustled in the wind, and the dense bamboo leaves fell so that they bent down and looked down at the grass under their feet. A few birds danced around among the thin bamboo strips, singing happily, and the two sparrows kept twittering and occasionally stretching their heads to peck each other a few times, a scene of kindness and love.
An old man in his fifties without bangs and with his hair in a bun sat quietly on the grass by the bamboo forest. Dark melon seed face, double eyelids big eyes, eyes with a bit of gloom. The bridge of the nose is straight, the chin is pointed, and the lips are clearly lined with not very white but neat teeth. She wears a pair of simple black flip-flops and a thin figure in a Jingpo tube skirt with dark flowers. The long skirt was tucked tightly between the knees, revealing two slender calves. With his left hand on his right knee and his right hand holding his chin, he breathed heavily, but he still leaned his head back and smiled and listened to the birds singing in the bamboo forest, focusing on the joy of the birds. I heard that this bamboo forest, this old man, has been a scenery on this road in this village for many years. After a fate, later, unexpectedly became a picture stop in the depths of my heart.
Since the old man suffered from severe asthma many years ago, he could not go down to the kitchen to cook and fry for his family, nor could he work in the fields. On a bright and clear day, I often drag my thin body around the bamboo grove on my doorstep. When he is not feeling well, he sits down on the grass on the edge of the bamboo forest and has a rest to relieve the suffering of asthma. The old man loves his family in his own special way. Whenever he gets sick, he sits here gasping with his mouth wide open from the bamboo grove, constantly wiping the phlegm in his mouth, and his throat can't help but breathe and moan. Take a breath for three or two hours. Never let the child near himself at the time of the illness. Always afraid that the children will see their own pain, but also worry that their own disease will spread to their families. The old man later got used to sitting so quietly by the bamboo forest, not only to avoid the torture caused by the cooking fumes in the kitchen, but also to take a look at the villagers shuttling through the fields from a distance. It can also allay the old man's worry that the children will catch their own illness. And it is this frail and sickly old man's sentence that "likes girls' long hair", which has made me like long hair to the waist for more than 20 years.
The acquaintance of the old man should be traced back to my green years. An encounter, a man, a relationship. Let me have the fate to meet this old man.
In the 19-year-old flower season, friends of the same age are like peach blossoms in spring, blooming early on the strangers of youth, learning to float their long hair to the mirror to trace their eyebrows and lips, such as butterflies, flowing freely. But I am still a cowboy as usual, with short hair and light travel. Like the fig on the doorstep of the house, the leaves do not bloom with the wind. Maybe it's because of my family's means. When I was young, I always liked to cut my hair short, buy some jeans that can be worn by both men and women, and dress myself like a boy, saving time to comb my long hair to help the family do housework. I can also let my brother and I share the cowboy's comfort. It was not until I met a romantic relationship and met the old man who liked to sit under the bamboo forest and watch the scenery that I learned to let my hair grow.
The old man is my boyfriend's mother.
That year, I used a ten-day holiday to visit my boyfriend. When I came shyly in front of the old man with mushroom hair and short skirt, the old man looked at me with a smile, his eyes full of endless joy. The old man is very kind. The daughter married early, and the old man is now the only mistress of the family. My wife and two sons travel around dozens of acres of fields every day, and my arrival undoubtedly adds a lot of strange atmosphere to the family.
When the old man is not sick, he also likes the children to chat around. Occasionally ask about my family. The first thing the old man does when he gets up every day is to sit on the bench at the door, spread his hair in a bun from the previous day, slowly comb his long hair like a waterfall, and then get it up again. Tidy up the hair twisted on the comb, tie it with the last one, and put it in a beautiful national style bag. The old man in his fifties is in poor health, but his long hair is so black that he can hardly find a trace of white hair.
After a few days of getting along, I gradually like to accompany the old man for a walk on the bamboo path, and like to sit on the grass and watch the scenery with the old man. Like to comb the long hair gently for the old man. As the old man spoke, he stopped to take a few slow breaths, and there were a few slight groans in his throat. In spite of this, he still likes to tell me the stories of the village, the stories of the children, and the stories of himself and his wife when they were young. He also told me how to make Jingpo ethnic flavor snacks, and occasionally taught me a few everyday words of the Jingpo nationality, stopping to catch his breath every time he said a few words. The old man likes me to listen to her quietly, like to watch me laboriously roll my tongue and follow her to learn Jingpo language, and also like to eat the light diet I made for her.
The ten-day holiday passed instantly, and when I picked up my reluctance to say goodbye to my boyfriend's family, the old man asked my son to bring me a lot of fruit from my own tree.
By the bamboo grove, the old man raised his thin arm, stroked my short hair and smiled and said to me, "Girl, go home and go to work and comb your long hair. I like the appearance of girls' long hair." In the coming autumn, I will comb my son's beautiful bride's hair and be my daughter-in-law. " Not having the heart to let the old man see my parting tears, I pretended to smile and waved and said goodbye to the old man!
In a person's life, no one can measure the long and short fate, and "distance" does not produce beauty in my love. In the end, I failed to let the old man see me put on my bridal makeup for him. I just called the old man during the holidays to send some blessings and greetings, but for the sake of the old man, my hair fluttered to my waist.
Five years ago, the old man's son suddenly called to say that the old man had died. the week before he died, he always asked me to go back to see him. In view of the long way to go, my son failed to fulfill the old man's wish. He just called me as soon as the old man died and told him how much he missed me on his deathbed. Thousands of miles apart, I could not see the old man off for the last trip. I just gently scattered my long hair combed for the old man's sentence, combed it slowly and gathered it together. The picture of the old man sitting next to the bamboo forest watching the scenery appeared in front of his eyes.
Maybe in this life, I can still see the green bamboo forest and the scenery of birds singing in the bamboo forest. But I will never see the old man gasping for breath at the edge of the bamboo forest looking at the scenery. Every season when the green leaves are wrapped around branches, I can only burn incense and whisper a rest for the old man who has spirit in the sky; I can only love the old man with long hair forever.
A meeting, a fate, you finally become a picture. An old man, in a word, I will grow my hair and waist for you forever, forever!
Author: soft ice